Chapter 27

It could be that his conscience drove him to it. Many men are haunted by past acts, until there is some kind of resolution. It is certain that his relationship with Lulu had a lot to do with it. He loved her too much to put her in a position to be hurt by his past. At war with himself over the thorn that kept piercing his psyche, he finally came up with what could only be called a half assed plan to at least TRY to move forward.

Kris invited Mitch in, taking him to the living room. Mitch looked around.

"Nice place," he said. "I've always wanted to see what the inside of one of these summer places looked like."

"I'm sure you knew somebody who lived in one," said Kris.

"Yeah, but it seemed kind of rude to just ask to visit so I could gawk, you know?"

"You didn't mind coming over here to pry into my life," said Kris.

"You're different," said Mitch. "You're an anomaly, both professionally and personally." He sat down and they both listened to air whooshing out of the leather-covered easy chair. "So, you said you needed a favor. What's up?"

"I need your opinion on a plot idea," said Kris.

"My opinion?" Mitch sounded surprised. Then he grinned. "Is the woman going to be naked this time?"

"No, I need your opinion as a law enforcement officer," explained Kris.

"Ahhhh," said Mitch. "I give advice for free, but a couple of fingers of good Scotch would most likely get my real opinion."

"All I've got is lemonade," said Kris, shrugging his shoulders. "I don't drink."

"How do you know you don't drink?" asked Mitch curiously.

"Beats me, I just know."

"Well, lemonade will get you a polite determination as to whether your plot will work or not," said Mitch, grinning.

Kris handed him a sheaf of papers, containing fifteen pages.

"You can read that while I get the drinks," he said. "It's an idea for part of a book."

"And you want my opinion on this?" asked Mitch, holding up the pages.

"Yeah," said Kris. "As a friend ... and from your perspective as a cop."

Kris went to the kitchen. He looked longingly at the back door, but he knew he wouldn't get far if Mitch came after him. He was taking a huge chance, but it was probably better to just tough it out and see what happened. He mixed the lemonade, putting four ice cubes in each glass, just killing time. He knew the important part was on page eight. He couldn't decide if he wanted to be in the room when Mitch read that or not. Finally, the feeling of just wanting to get it over with drove him back to the living room. When he handed Mitch the lemonade, the man took it without looking at him, his eyes firmly on the "story outline" in his hand. Kris saw that as Mitch had read each page, he'd put it face down in his lap. He appeared to have four or five pages left. That meant he'd already gotten to the part Kris was concerned with ... the part that this whole charade was designed to deal with ... sort of. Not knowing what else to do, he went and sat down in the other chair.

Mitch put another page face down on top of the others. He took a sip of the lemonade, but didn't stop reading or look at Kris. He set the glass on the end table without looking at it. Five long minutes later, he was holding ... and reading ... the last page.

Mitch reached for the lemonade next to his chair. He took a sip and put it back. Almost carefully, he picked up the sheaf of pages and held them by the sides, tapping them on his knee to straighten them and get them all into a neat pile. He laid them beside the glass of lemonade and looked up at Kris.

"So, you're going to write this story," he said.

"I'm just thinking about it right now," said Kris carefully. "I need to make sure that the plot idea makes sense. It's just a rough outline, right now."

"Reads a lot like your own situation," observed Mitch. His eyes didn't waver. Neither did Kris'.

"I started this when I first got here. It was Lulu's idea, but I didn't get very far because I couldn't remember what happened to me. Now it's based loosely on what happened to me, with some extra stuff thrown in, of course. I mean authors get to take license and all that kind of thing when they write fiction." He took a sip of his own drink. "So, yeah, it's loosely based on my situation," said Kris. "That's why it's just a very rough outline. I don't know how things are going to turn out yet. Does he get his memory back? Are there ... complications? Does he live happily ever after?"

"Complications," said Mitch softly. "Such as the hit and run accident?"

Kris paused a fraction of a second longer than he felt like he should have, but he had to work up the courage to speak.

"Yeah. I mean ... what would happen to a guy in that situation?"

"You mean a guy who can remember that he hit somebody, but can't remember anything else?"

"Yeah," said Kris tightly. "I mean it could be something from his past that is over and done with ... couldn't it?"

Mitch cupped his chin in the web between his right thumb and forefinger.

"You mean it was processed ... investigated ... adjudicated ... and he just can't remember that part?"

"Yes," said Kris.

"Then it wouldn't be a complication, except as a vehicle to insert tension and a sense of fear into the plot. He's running from the law, because he doesn't know the whole thing was dealt with." Mitch reached for the lemonade and took another sip. "Is that what you mean?"

"I guess so," said Kris. "How would a guy in that situation go about finding out if it had been dealt with?"

"Officially or unofficially?" asked Mitch.

"Both, I guess," said Kris. "Which would be more likely to get the needed information?"

Mitch picked up the papers and looked through them again. He put about half of them face down on his lap and reread the page that was left on top. He was quiet for a full minute as he read. Then he looked up.

"Well, obviously, going the official route would be easier. I mean if he had a friend in law enforcement, who could ask some questions without raising suspicion, he could probably find out pretty easily. If there was a prosecution, or even an arrest, it would be in public records."

Kris's eyes opened wider. "I never thought of that," he said.

"But then you have the problem of not knowing which name to run," said Mitch. "Your boy here has two names. Who knows if either of those are his real name, if you know what I mean. Running his aliases wouldn't necessarily get you squat." He frowned. "Such as when I ran YOUR name. I didn't find anything like this in your background."

"Oh," said Kris. He sounded disappointed.

"On the unofficial side, there are some things I could think of to do," said Mitch.

Kris perked up.

"It says here that there were a lot of people standing around when this happened ... like maybe it was in a parking lot or something?"

"I guess it could have been," said Kris. He suddenly looked shocked. "I mean I guess it could be written that way."

Mitch acted like he hadn't heard the slip. "A guy could go back to the scene and look around for a business, or workplace or something, where it's likely someone might have seen something. He could ask around, you know? Like he was a reporter, maybe, asking about this accident and whether anyone saw it or not. Then, if he found someone like that ... who saw it, I mean ... he could do an interview to find out all the details."

"Like if the police were there and caught the guy," suggested Kris.

"Or if the guy drove away and was never found," said Mitch.

Kris sat for a minute. "But if he can't remember where it happened ... he couldn't do that. And anyway, if that was the case ... he'd have to turn himself in."

"If you wanted him to be the good guy, in this story of yours," said Mitch, "then yeah, he'd have to resolve it some way. I mean somebody got hurt, right? He'd have to take responsibility for that ... if he was a good guy."

"That's not quite the ending I had in mind," sighed Kris.

"Who says that has to be the ending?" asked Mitch.

Kris looked up in surprise.

"Of course it would be the ending. Hit and run. Guy injured. Book 'em, Danno. Case closed." Kris sighed.

"You're forgetting that he doesn't know all the facts here," said Mitch. "Something like you described in this fictional account here would get a lot of law enforcement attention. I'm guessing that this fictional account you came up with happened in a big city, based on the little details that he CAN remember. Big cities are full of cops and they all have radios. With all those witnesses around, the first cops on the scene would have a description of the offending vehicle right away. The bolo goes out and the offender is found ... unless he gets the car into a garage right away."

"Why a garage?" asked Kris.

"Because the car is damaged. Accidents like this leave all kinds of evidence. Paint, glass, dirt, and that doesn't include the evidence transferred the other direction. Did you know if you hit a human being at forty miles an hour that the pattern of the cloth on the shirt he's wearing can be pressed into the paint of the car that hit him?"

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For Want of a Memory

Lubrican

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